


Scarlet Stitches

by redxcranberry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redxcranberry/pseuds/redxcranberry
Summary: It’s said that each person is born with a magical length of red thread fastened to their finger. The string is invisible and untouchable, connecting its owner with the one they are destined to be with – their true love. It may stretch or tangle, but the cord will never break. No matter how far the two may stray, the red thread of fate will tether them together and ensure that they find one another again in the end.Sylvain and Felix’s destinies are like spilled embroidery thread – beautifully intricate, full of twists and turns, and indisputably, inextricably intertwined.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A sylvix soulmates AU based on the [red thread of fate legend](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_thread_of_fate) from eastern mythology. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Sylvain is seven years old when he sees the thread for the first time.

It happens on a decadent Verdant Moon evening, the kind that is even more precious and memorable given its rarity. A slight breeze gently tousles Sylvain’s sienna hair as he wanders through the carefully manicured grounds of the Gautier estate, swinging his arms from side to side in excitement. The weather is warmer than usual for this time in the season, and it’s not often that he gets to enjoy days like this during the sweet, slender sliver of the year that is late summer in the northernmost territory of Faerghus.

Felix is there, too, having tagged along with his father, who is visiting in order to conduct very important Kingdom business with the Margrave – or at least that’s what Sylvain’s parents told him. Sylvain doesn’t particularly care about the details on why; all that had mattered to him in that conversation was the fact that Felix is coming.

_Felix is coming. Felix is coming. Felix is coming._

The comforting mantra had played over and over in Sylvain’s head all week until the Fraldarius banner finally appeared over the horizon early one morning. The Gautier guards nearly had to physically restrain Sylvain from running out of the castle gate at the sight in his exuberance, unable to wait another moment to reunite with his best and oldest friend.

That was a few days ago, but every minute spent with Felix since has felt like a blissful eternity. Sylvain knows it can’t last forever, knows that Felix will be gone come the new moon, but he’s latching on to all the happiness he can before the harsh winter months rear their ugly head and preclude any more impromptu visits.

Fireflies blink in and out of existence in the balmy evening air as Sylvain races through the gardens, dashing between rows of lush hedges and through flower beds bursting with color. Felix isn’t far behind, both of them laughing and swinging imaginary weapons at unseen foes, courageous and gallant just like the heroes in the legends they’ve grown up hearing so much about.

Eventually, they stop beneath an old apple tree. Felix bends over and places his hands on his knees, panting hard. His tiny legs don’t stand a chance when it comes to keeping up with his slightly older and significantly taller friend.

“Are you okay?” Sylvain places a gentle hand on Felix’s shoulder as the younger boy struggles to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” Felix answers. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Let’s rest here, then.”

Felix nods, grateful for the reprieve. The two stand in relative quiet for a moment and listen to the crickets chirping in the long grass.

The silence is broken by a deep rumbling noise. It takes a second for Sylvain to realize it’s coming from Felix’s stomach.

“Hungry?”

“A little.” Felix admits. “All they had tonight was sweet stuff, and I didn’t want to eat it.”

An idea pops into Sylvain’s head. He points towards the sky at the fruit dangling high above them. “You like apples, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll get one for you.” He turns to the tree, but a small hand grasping at the back of his shirt stops him in his tracks.

“Please don’t, Sylvain,” Felix begs. “You can’t, it’s too dangerous–”

“Don’t worry, Fe.” Sylvain pats him on the head then gives him a small smile. “Trust me, okay?”

Felix’s eyes are watering and he’s still wearing a slight frown, but he gives him a tentative nod.

There’s one fruit in particular that stands out among the rest – a perfectly shaped apple of the deepest crimson, nestled among verdant leaves in the uppermost boughs of the tree. Sylvain grabs hold of the lowest branch and tugs downward, cautiously testing its strength. It bends an almost imperceptible amount but doesn’t give, so he pulls himself up with his arms and swings his legs over to stabilize himself. Once that’s done, he grabs the trunk of the tree and carefully stands upright. Sylvain spares a moment to look down at Felix, who is watching him with an expression somewhere between dread and awe. He gives Felix a quick thumbs up, then clambers up another few branches towards his prize.

After few minutes of steady climbing, Sylvain reaches the apple and plucks it from the tree. He polishes it with the hem of his shirt and holds it up, admiring its glossy sheen in the low light of the setting sun. “Ready?” he calls down to Felix.

“Yeah!”

He tosses the apple to Felix below, who catches it with a surprised yelp. Felix inspects the shining fruit in his hand, then stares up at Sylvain and breaks into the widest smile he’s ever seen.

In that moment, Sylvain thinks he would do anything to make Felix happy like this, to see that dazzling smile day in and day out. It’s all he can focus on as he starts his descent by grabbing the nearest branch that’s just a _little_ bit too thin and–

“ _Sylvain!”_

One second, Sylvain is high up in the tree, laughing and carefree; the next, he’s flat on his back on the dirt below, raging fire in his lungs and sharp pain shooting up his spine. He’s vaguely aware that Felix is leaning over him and frantically calling his name, but the piercing ringing in his ears overpowers all else. He gasps, but barely any air rushes in, so he raises his hand to desperately claw at his throat. Yet something catches his eye, and he stops with his fingers outstretched in front of his face.

There’s a fine strand of what looks like red thread wrapped around the little finger of his right hand and trailing downwards, as beautiful and delicate as dewy gossamer. He can’t feel it on his skin, so it must be extraordinarily light and soft. It glimmers like coins in the bottom of a wishing fountain as he tilts his hand back and forth, fascinated by its almost otherworldly glow.

Sylvain’s eyes follow the length of the thread leading away from his hand. He admires the way it gracefully twists and turns, pooling on top of his chest and then spilling onto the ground. It’s only when he reaches the other end of the shimmering cord that he realizes it’s attached to Felix's hand, coiling around his pinky just as it sits snugly on Sylvain’s own.

Sylvain has never seen whatever it is before in his life, but staring at the little red strand awakens a sense of familiarity that he’s struggling to place, like it’s been there all along. But if that’s true, how had he never noticed it until now?

“Sylvain!” Felix is kneeling beside him now, frantically shaking him by the shoulders as tears fall freely from his eyes. “Please, Syl!”

Sylvain groans, and sweet air finally rushes into his battered lungs. “I’m sorry, Fe,” he wheezes, “shouldn’t have done that.”

Felix sniffles in response, gripping onto Sylvain’s shirt like he’ll never let go. Now he’s really gone and messed things up. He thinks he may hate seeing Felix cry even more than he loves seeing Felix smile.

Sylvain sits up slowly, taking stock of his sore body. His back is stiff as a board and there are more than a few superficial scratches scattered across his arms, though there doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage. He rubs at his eyes as the pain starts to ebb away, still thoroughly out of it.

When he opens his eyes again, the red thread is gone.

“Huh? Where’d it go?”

“The apple?” Felix asks. The remnants of tears still stain his face. “It’s right here.”

“No, not that…”

Sylvain blinks again and stares at his hand. But nothing changes.

“What is it?” Felix’s brow is furrowed in concern.

“Never mind. I’m fine.” It must have been a trick of the light – or perhaps he’d hit his head hard enough to start seeing things.

“You sure you’re okay?” Felix stands and offers a tiny hand to Sylvain, who accepts it to pull himself upright.

“Yeah.” Sylvain gives Felix’s fingers a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t ever leave me like that again.” Felix pleads, eyes wide. “Swear to me, alright?”

“I swear.”

“Pinky promise?”

Felix extends his hand, and Sylvain feels a profound peace settle deep within his chest as he intertwines his little finger with Felix’s outstretched pinky. It’s a vow he plans keep.

“I promise.”

❖❖❖

Sylvain is ten years old when he first hears about the legend.

His caretaker is the one who tells him about it. She’s a wizened old lady from the nearby village who his parents hired to tend to various household tasks they’d rather not spend time on or dirty their hands with, like sweeping the castle floors, cleaning the washrooms of visiting nobles, and attending to Sylvain. She’s not his family, at least not by blood, but Sylvain has come to see her as a grandmother figure of sorts, especially when she tucks him in at night and tells him bedtime stories to help him fall asleep.

Most of the time, they’re old histories regarding the great Loog, King of Lions, and his faithful knights, or instead tales of brave adventurers facing off against terrible beasts. But sometimes they’re folktales and legends, stories resplendent with fantastical magic and whimsical chronicles of true love. Those are Sylvain’s favorites. He knows he’s getting a bit too old for this kind of thing, but he still likes it, likes the way the old woman speaks softly and lovingly smiles at him in a way neither of his parents ever has as she spins her yarns and he hangs on to her every word. 

_Have you ever heard,_ she asks in a hushed tone one evening as if letting Sylvain in on an important secret, _of the tale of the red thread of fate?_

Sylvain shakes his head, intrigued.

 _It’s said that each person is born with a magical length of red thread fastened to their finger,_ she says, wiggling her digits in front of Sylvain’s face with a playful grin. _The string is invisible and untouchable, connecting its owner with the one they are destined to be with – their true love. It may stretch or tangle, but the cord will never break. No matter how far the two may stray, the red thread of fate will tether them together and ensure that they find one another again in the end._

 _Like soulmates?_ Sylvain asks, eyes wide.

 _You could say that,_ the woman says with a chuckle. _Yes, like soulmates._

And Sylvain’s imagination runs wild.

He lies in bed for a long while after the old woman bids him goodnight, staring up at the canopy of his four-poster bed in his darkened room. There’s something about the story that seems achingly recognizable, something that scratches insistently at the clouded surface of Sylvain’s subconscious. He wracks his brain for what feels like hours, but he eventually comes to accept that whatever the strange feeling is, it’s just out of his reach, hidden and tucked away in the nooks and crannies of his memories. His eyelids grow heavy as he turns his hand over and over in the moonlight, searching for any hint of red as he succumbs to a deep sleep.

When he brings up the legend with his father the next day, Sylvain immediately regrets it. _An old wives’ tale_ , the Margrave tells him, _just a foolish story invented to entertain children. You don’t truly believe in that, do you, Sylvain?_

He shakes his head, seeking approval. His father turns away with a huff. _We’ll find you a pretty wife someday when you’re older. Don’t waste your time thinking about that nonsense._

The next day, Sylvain’s old caretaker is gone, replaced by a stern and unforgiving governess who raps Sylvain’s knuckles with a switch when he slouches at the dinner table and sends him off to bed without so much as a goodnight.

Sylvain doesn’t mention it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@redxcranberry](https://twitter.com/redxcranberry)


	2. Chapter 2

Initially, Sylvain had been overjoyed to reunite with Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri at Garreg Mach. He’d been yearning to leave Gautier for ages, and when his parents suggested continuing his education by attending the Officer’s Academy ( _you’d do well to behave yourself for once while you’re there,_ they lectured), he jumped at the chance to escape from the oppressive halls of his ancestral home.

Once they’re all together again, there are more than a few tears shed at nostalgic memories and friends long lost. But they quickly settle into a groove as classes begin. Sometimes, when they’re all together and talking and joking around, it’s almost as if nothing has changed from when they were kids in the good old days. But Sylvain knows that’s not really true, knows that what happened in Duscur years ago has permanently changed all of them, especially Felix, for the worse. He sees it in the way Felix sets his jaw whenever knighthood or chivalry is mentioned in passing, in the way he trains with a single-minded obsession until he nearly drops from exhaustion, in the expression he wears when he thinks no one’s around to see. He’s different now, at least on the outside.

Yet despite the unpleasant reminders of the past, Sylvain has one thing going for him: he’s never been granted this much time together with Felix before. Not when they were both children, when the long seasons between family visits seemed to stretch into eternities, and certainly not since the Tragedy, when the stability and innocence they had long taken for granted was suddenly and irrevocably shattered to pieces.

Sylvain and Felix spend days upon days just catching up with each other’s lives, and they fall back into their old routine as easily as slipping back into a favorite pair of broken in shoes. Felix is still more than a little abrasive – he aggressively chastises Sylvain for slacking off and gets a strange, pained look on his face whenever he sees Sylvain with a girl – but they quickly grow even closer than they’ve ever been. When it’s just the two of them sitting down for a meal together, sparring in the training grounds, or studying for an upcoming exam, Felix is more open, more sensitive, and more like the boy Sylvain used to know. That alone is reason enough for him to celebrate, so Sylvain attempts to maintain an optimistic attitude.

That feeling doesn’t last long.

At first, the monthly mission assigned to the Blue Lions seems relatively routine – take out a group of bandits causing trouble in eastern Kingdom territory. It’s only when the professor pulls Sylvain aside after class with a slight frown that he comes to realize the true, personal nature of the assignment for him specifically. It’s just his luck that he’d be destined to confront his own brother and all the bad memories that come along with him after so many years.

Sometimes, Sylvain thinks the Goddess must hate him.

The battle itself is a haze of blood and clattering steel. The Blue Lions and the Church’s forces cut through the ragtag group of bandits with relative ease, striking them down where they stand as they ascend the spiral staircase of the old stone tower with ruthless efficiency. It’s only when they reach the top of the thieves’ hideout that Sylvain comes face-to-face with Miklan wielding his family’s stolen relic, his scarred face twisted into an expression of the utmost loathing. Soon after, all hell breaks loose in the form of a grotesque monstrosity of gnashing teeth and razor sharp claws and scaly, inhuman skin that gushes with viscous, oily blood when Sylvain delivers the killing blow to the beast that used to be his brother.

When they return to the monastery, Sylvain shoves the Lance of Ruin under his bed where he doesn’t have to see it and tries to forget about it entirely.

❖❖❖

The red thread is a near constant in his uneasy dreams over the next few days, its omnipresence stitching scattered thoughts and fragments of images together in brilliant shades of vermillion. Sometimes he’s drowning, wave after wave washing over him in a stormy sea, and the thread appears as a lifeline thrown to him from the deck of a ship by someone with sharp features and flowing, navy blue hair. Other times he’s falling from a great height, his seemingly endless plunge halted only by the sudden appearance of a bright burgundy rope to cling to and climb to safety.

Then there’s the one that he has over and over without fail. In his dream, he’s walking through the monastery late at night. No one else is around, and the normal natural tones of the buildings and the vibrant greens of the gardens are inexplicably coated in a shroud of dull grey. The only source of color is the softly glowing red cord on the ground that Sylvain finds himself walking along as if in a trance. He dutifully traces its every curve and contour as the luminous line snakes through the great hall, past the greenhouse, and up the stairs to the second floor dormitories. It always travels down the empty hall and slips under the door to Felix’s room, its mystifying light enticing Sylvain into following. But every time Sylvain reaches out to grasp the doorknob, he wakes.

He never remembers anything the next morning.

It’s on one of these restless nights that Sylvain is roused from his half slumber by a sharp tapping at his chamber door. He rolls over and opens his eyes. Judging by the dark velvet sky outside his window, it must be very early morning, so he tries to ignore whatever visitor is seeking his attention at this unholy hour.

But despite Sylvain’s silence, the knocking grows increasingly insistent. Sylvain reluctantly gives in, rubbing his tired eyes as he blindly feels his way across his room to the exit. He swings open the door to find a pair of dark amber irises staring back at him.

“Felix?”

Felix pushes an errant strand of inky hair out of his face and folds his arms across his chest. “I was returning from a training session and heard loud noises coming from your room.”

“Noises?”

“It sounded like shouting.”

“Oh,” Sylvain raises a hand to touch the back of his neck. “I must have just been sleep talking.”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, Fe,” Sylvain lies. “I always try to stay on an even keel.”

Felix narrows his eyes. They gleam like burnished copper in the moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows across the hall. “No, you’re not.”

“What?”

“Don’t pull that shit with me.”

“Felix, I–”

“I’m staying here with you for the night,” Felix declares, marching into the room and taking up residence on Sylvain’s bed.

Sylvain can only stare in stunned silence, still holding the door wide open. Felix has always been able to see right through his facade, and tonight is no exception.

“Are you going to come back to bed, or are you just going to stand there?”

Sylvain chooses the former.

It’s a callback to their childhood, to precious, golden nights spent comforting each other and enjoying each other’s company whenever things got hard. There was once a time when Felix sought out Sylvain for reassurance like this often, long before Felix built the invisible walls around him that Sylvain so desperately wants to tear down. He can’t remember the last time they slept in a bed together this way – curled inwards and facing each other, hot breaths mingling in the still night air as they slowly drift off side by side. Now that he thinks about it, they likely haven’t slept in the same bed since Felix came to him for consolation after Glenn’s death.

 _It’s funny_ , Sylvain thinks, _how some things never change._

Felix falls asleep first, his silky hair fanned across Sylvain’s pillow. Sylvain spends longer than he’d care to admit admiring Felix’s peaceful expression, committing the angles of his face and the glow of his alabaster skin to memory. Slowly but surely, he’s lulled back to slumber by the gentle rise and fall of Felix’s chest in the moonlight and the reassuring warmth of Felix’s body next to his.

In his dreams, all is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be up sometime this weekend - thank you x 1,000 to everyone who has left kudos and commented ♡
> 
> Twitter: [@redxcranberry](https://twitter.com/redxcranberry)


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been over five years since Edelgard and the Imperial army stormed Garreg Mach and declared war on the Church of Seiros, throwing Fódlan into utter chaos and turning longstanding friends into bitter foes.

It’s been eight moons since Felix, Sylvain, and the rest of the Blue Lions fulfilled their promise to reunite at the monastery on what should have been start of the Millennium Festival, war and tragedy and mysterious disappearances be damned, and found their professor and what was left of the Dimitri they once knew waiting for them there.

It’s been four moons since Rodrigue took a dagger to the heart in place of his king, leaving Felix a shattered shell of himself but somehow finally snapping Dimitri out of the murderous, guilt-ridden, fugue-like state he’d been trapped in for nearly half a decade.

And it’s been approximately two hours since the Kingdom army, led by a reinvigorated Dimitri with the professor at his side, began the final assault on the city of Enbarr.

Sylvain tears through the streets of the Imperial capital on horseback with a heart full of righteous fury, striking down faceless soldiers and old classmates alike. The Lance of Ruin pulses malevolently in his hands as he snuffs out all that stands between him and the end of this wretched war. There will be time to mourn later – to atone for the senseless violence, to bury the dead, to pray for those who are lost – but right now, victory is so close that Sylvain can almost taste it.

Felix is by Sylvain’s side, his piercing gaze daring enemies to approach and meet their maker. They fight in perfect tandem, their deadly duet honed by years upon years of training and learning each other’s strengths and weaknesses inside and out. Felix dodges and weaves to cut down any enemies that dare to approach Sylvain’s steed from behind, while Sylvain’s superior reach skewers all challengers that haven’t already been felled by Felix’s swift swordsmanship.

They storm the palace gates. Imperial guards fall like dominos before the combined forces of the professor and Dimitri wielding their relics like the legends of old come back to life, cleaving through armor as easily as butter as they penetrate further and further into the heart of the castle. Sylvain watches Annette quickly dispatch of a hostile assassin with an expertly timed Excalibur spell, silently celebrates when Ashe snipes a pesky mage to clear the way for the rest of the party to advance into the throne room, and lets out a strained sigh of relief when Dedue blocks an axe swing meant for Dimitri with his shield and follows it up by slashing the enemy’s head clean off their shoulders.

Edelgard’s final stand brings back some terrible memories for Sylvain, who has tried hard to forget the first time he saw the human form corrupted and malformed by crest magic all those years ago. But when her last-ditch attack on Dimitri fails and her lifeless body finally hits the palace tile with a decisive thump, Sylvain barely hears the noise over the ringing in his ears and the cheers of the army behind him. He can scarcely believe it in the shock of the moment. He looks to his right, expecting to see Felix staring back at him, but the space beside him is conspicuously empty.

Sylvain turns to the rest of the Blue Lions, who are hugging each other and shouting with joy, tears of relief running down their faces. “Hey – have you guys seen Felix?”

Ingrid says something about Felix mentioning wanting to clear out any remaining enemies in the surrounding rooms, and Sylvain nods and thanks her. _Of course_ , Sylvain thinks, _Felix would never rest until the last enemy has been taken care of._ He steers his horse out of the throne room, making his way through the labyrinth corridors of the Imperial palace and calling out Felix’s name.

The architecture of the royal palace is imposing and disquieting. Massive stone columns stretch ever upwards and disappear among the shadowy, arched ceilings above, while seemingly empty suits of armor line the passageways, their steely gazes unwavering and unnerving as Sylvain intrudes upon their domain. His horse’s footsteps echo in the eerie quiet left in the wake of the fight as he combs the corridors, growing more and more on edge with each passing minute. Suddenly, he hears some scuffling sounds coming from the next room. He picks up his pace.

Sylvain turns the corner to see Felix walking down the hall, sword and shield at the ready as he searches for stragglers leftover from the battle. He spots Sylvain and raises a hand in greeting just as a dark shadow steps out from behind a nearby pillar. Sylvain shouts, but his warning comes too late – Felix turns just in time to watch his assailant run him clean through with a sword, his lithe form crumpling to the floor.

_“FELIX!”_

Sylvain charges straight at Felix’s attacker, lance outstretched. He watches with pure hatred in his eyes as the Imperial soldier falls to his knees, his flesh emitting a sickening squelch as he’s disemboweled at the tip of the Lance of Ruin. The man’s body has barely hit the ground when Sylvain dismounts with a frantic clattering of armor and kneels beside Felix, trying to push down on Felix’s stomach and staunch the steady flow of blood pouring from the wound.

“Felix.” Sylvain’s hands are shaking as he cradles him in his arms. A crimson stain blooms across Felix’s abdomen, blood oozing through his teal cloak and spilling onto the floor. “Goddess, Felix–”

“Syl.” Felix stares up at him, eyes glassy. He’s inhaling ragged, shallow breaths that don’t seem to draw any air into his lungs. “I – I’m sorry–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’ll be alright,” Sylvain says, desperately trying to calm himself with his own words. He hovers his hand above the wound. A weak pulse of golden light emanates from Sylvain’s fingertips then sputters. The bleeding slows for a moment, but healing something like this is far past Sylvain’s capabilities.

_Not enough._

“We’ve come this far, Fe.” Sylvain tries to keep the rising panic out of his voice as he slings Felix over the back of his mare and gets on. He holds him close to his chest, squeezing his hand for reassurance. Felix squeezes back, ever so faintly. “Don’t give up on me now, okay?”

“Ngh…” Felix’s voice is fading, his eyes losing focus. “Our promise…”

Sylvain’s horse skits around corners, hooves pounding through the twisting hallways leading back to the throne room. “We’ll get you to a real healer, just hold on–”

Felix coughs. A mouthful of blood splatters across his lips and dribbles down his chin onto Sylvain’s saddle like spilled wine. His head lolls forward, his body falling limp in Sylvain’s arms.

_No, please, not now–_

It’s then that Sylvain sees her. “ _Mercedes!”_ he screams, near hysterical as he gallops towards his one and only hope.

Mercedes turns around. A look of pure terror briefly flits across her face at the sight of an unconscious, bloody Felix in Sylvain’s arms, but she soon rolls up her sleeves with a grim sort of determination and gets to work. She instructs Sylvain to lay Felix’s prone form on the palace tile and he complies, his trembling arms placing Felix down as gently as he can. Mercedes’ hands hover over Felix’s torso and she closes her eyes, her deft fingertips emitting a soft white glow as she focuses all her energy into the healing spell.

“Save him – please, save him – oh Goddess, please, Felix–”

There’s blood. There’s a _lot_ of blood. It saturates Felix’s armor and seeps into the cracks of the palace floor, marring the pristine white marble with rivers of crimson. Sylvain feels faint at the mere sight of it, and he’s no stranger to violence or even to seeing those he loves taken from him without mercy. That piece of his innocence was wrenched from him the day the Imperial army laid siege to Garreg Mach what feels like a lifetime ago.

But this is different from seeing a nameless enemy or even a former acquaintance fall. This is Felix.

Felix, whose steadfast presence has been a ray of light in Sylvain’s life for as long as he can remember. Felix, whose wry smile and razor sharp wit have been some of Sylvain’s only sources of comfort throughout the chaos of the past five years. Felix, who protects his friends with a level of ferocity and passion that betrays his apathetic exterior and exposes the kindhearted, sensitive boy of Sylvain’s childhood.

Sylvain loves him.

He chokes back tears, gripping Felix’s limp hand tightly in his own as if he’ll never let go. That’s when he sees it – a thin, shimmering red thread twisting around each of their little fingers.

A flood of memories hits Sylvain all at once with the force of a Thoron spell: an accidental fall from a long forgotten apple tree, the old legend recounted by the kindly caretaker from his childhood, restless nights spent chasing crimson lines through his dreams. Time seems to stop completely as he stares at the ethereal string that connects him to Felix, its many twists and turns binding them together with an ancient and profound sort of magic.

Yet Sylvain soon realizes with a growing sense of terror that the thread is fading before his very eyes. He tries to grab onto it but it slips through his fingers like quicksand, its brilliant glow growing fainter and fainter by the second.

“No,” Sylvain pleads to the heavens, tears falling readily now as he clings to Felix. “I – I’m here, Fe. I’m here. Please, stay with me–”

There’s a burst of white light so bright that Sylvain turns his head away instinctively, shielding his eyes from its source with his free hand. At the same time, Mercedes lets out a soft sigh and nearly collapses, barely catching herself with her hands in front of her chest as she slumps over the stained tile floor.

Suddenly, the limp hand in Sylvain’s grip squeezes him back, and Sylvain’s heart nearly pounds straight out of his chest.

“Syl.” Felix groans, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sylvain says, cradling Felix in his arms.

Felix opens his eyes and stares up at Sylvain like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. Sylvain leans down to embrace Felix, his breath catching in his throat as he holds him tightly against his chest.

His despair gives way to tears of joy as the thread between them shines brighter than ever before, its sleek length glowing with a renewed vigor in the most beautiful shade of scarlet that Sylvain has ever seen.

❖❖❖

Felix is moved back to the Blue Lions’ camp to recover. He drifts in and out of consciousness, occasionally waking for a short time before slumbering once more. He’s still severely disoriented as his body heals from what Sylvain is fairly sure should have been a mortal wound if not for Mercedes’ extraordinary skill and the grace of the Goddess herself.

The rest of the Blue Lions come and go to check on Felix, but Sylvain stays by Felix’s side through day and night. He takes the time to brush Felix’s hair out of his eyes and whisper soothing words into his ear while Felix sleeps then brings him water and food during his brief spurts of lucidity. The red thread is invisible once more, having dissipated soon after Felix was healed – but Sylvain can tell that it’s still there, can sense its magic surging through him, can almost feel the loop around his finger tethering him to the person in the world he loves above all else.

Three days after the fall of the Empire, Felix opens his eyes and speaks for the first time since the battle. He turns to Sylvain, exhaustion written plainly across his face. “Syl. Where am I?”

“Somewhere safe.” Felix looks confused, so Sylvain elaborates. “We’re back in the camp outside Enbarr – we didn’t want to move you too far after what you’ve been through.”

Felix nods, gingerly sitting up in the makeshift cot.

Sylvain winces as the blanket covering Felix’s chest falls away to reveal a patchwork of bloody bandages and angry, fresh scars. They’re unwelcome reminders of how close he came to losing Felix – to losing everything. He tries to focus on Felix’s face instead. “What do you remember?”

“I – the assassin – Edelgard.” Felix furrows his eyebrows.

“Edelgard’s dead,” Sylvain says bitterly. “Dimitri and the professor made sure of that. The rest of us are all safe. It’s finally over, Fe.”

Felix looks at Sylvain out of the corner of his eyes. “I remember you finding me. I remember everything going dark...”

“Mercedes saved you. Said you were inches from death.”

“I thought I _was_ dead,” Felix admits. “She’s a real miracle worker.”

“She is. When you came back to us…I was so happy I almost wanted to kiss her.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, and Sylvain backtracks. “Not like that, Fe. She’s just a friend – I don’t think of her that way.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself and gently intertwines his fingers with Felix’s. “There’s only one person who I’m in love with, you know.”

Felix turns to face Sylvain fully and locks his eyes with Sylvain’s, his expression inscrutable. Sylvain holds his breath as the admission hangs in the air for what feels like eons, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He’s just about to open his mouth and say something when Felix surges forward, pulling Sylvain down to meet him and pressing their mouths together.

Bursts of fireworks go off behind Sylvain’s eyelids as their lips meet, showers of golden embers bathing him in a warm glow that leaves him reeling. He’s imagined similar scenarios countless times – but none of his wildest fantasies could ever compare to _this_. After a blissful minute, they slowly break apart, each of them taking a moment to catch their breaths and stare deep into each other’s eyes.

“Sylvain,” Felix finally breaks the silence, wincing slightly. “When I was injured – when you were holding me, I thought I saw…” Felix’s golden eyes study Sylvain’s face, then travel down to stare at the hand that’s holding his own. His gaze lingers on Sylvain’s little finger, and an unspoken understanding passes between them.

“I know. It’s been you. All this time,” Sylvain’s voice wavers as his eyes start to water. “It’s always been you.”

Felix nods, and a swell of elation blossoms deep within Sylvain’s chest.

“Don’t ever leave me again, okay?” Sylvain runs the pad of his thumb over the knuckles of Felix’s little finger, tenderly rubbing tiny circles into his ivory skin.

“I promise,” Felix whispers, wrapping his arms around Sylvain’s shoulders to pull him closer.

Sylvain leans forward to kiss him once more, and the taste of Felix’s lips on his own is more delicious than even the sweetest summer apple.

Maybe the Goddess doesn’t hate him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading through to the end! This was a pleasure to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed planning it out ♡ I'd been thinking about a sylvix soulmates AU for a long time, so when the red thread of fate idea popped into my head, I couldn't resist.
> 
> [Promo post](https://twitter.com/redxcranberry/status/1311744068460974081)
> 
> Twitter: [@redxcranberry](https://twitter.com/redxcranberry)


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